


I'd Do The Stars With You Anytime

by Duckyboos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Death, Drug Abuse, Hate to Love, M/M, Rock Star Dean, Rock Stars, Sculptor Cas, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak has a quaint little life with his religious wife Daphne. They’re happy and stable. But that all changes when Daphne is killed in an avoidable car accident by a drunk driver, leaving Castiel emotionally numb and bereft, seemingly unable to find peace in things that used to make him happy.</p><p>Dean Winchester has been on a downward spiral since his band took off and he knows that he drinks, fucks and smokes too much. It’s too much and never enough. Which is why he was strung out on at least four different substances, driving his recently-purchased Batmobile replica down a residential street at over twice the speed limit when he hit Daphne Novak.</p><p>This story follows both of their lives as they each try to come to terms with things that they have lost and how to reconcile that with who they are and who they want to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Do The Stars With You Anytime

**Author's Note:**

> This is my serious-ish project -hah!  
> It's probably my longest-standing Fanfic idea, and I just had to write it. I'll try for regular updates and stuff, but it's gonna be kinda angst-heavy and my sequel to Darkly Dreaming Dean is a lot of fun to write, so I'm just going to see how I go.
> 
> Please be gentle!

It’s a miserable day; the thunder clouds rolled in early on and the first sheets of rain began to fall not long after. The ill-fitting suit – bought at age 17 when he mother died and he was less broad, less muscular, still a gangly boy – is already soaked right through, the white shirt underneath turning translucent and sticking to his skin.

His untamable hair is clinging thick and wet to his forehead, tips dripping with rainwater that streaks down his face, but he barely notices.

Someone to his left unfolds an umbrella over his head, but it’s too late, because the damage is done.

Today’s the day that he buries his wife of four years.

He looks up across the open grave and catches sight of the man who is the cause of it all. He looks contrite enough, but he’s probably a decent actor. Castiel doesn’t know much about him, briefed by his brother about the famous Dean Winchester; front man of some rock band that Castiel has probably heard on the radio, but has never cared enough about to pay attention.

The only thing he cares to know about Dean Winchester is that he’s the one responsible for his wife being in the wooden coffin, slowly lowering into a hole in the ground, instead of at the W.I. baking her famous cherry pie.

***

After the funeral, when everyone is in the rectory, busy stuffing their faces with potato salad and deviled eggs, Dean comes over to him, all apologies, eyes – that are two shades of green wrong – shining with unshed tears and Castiel wants nothing to do with him. He goes to turn his back, but is stopped by a firm hand on his forearm.

“Man, I just want you to know that I am so sorry.”

Castiel says nothing, as he faces his wife’s murderer, mouth in a tight line and he doesn’t deign to meet the man’s eyes; instead staring at the wall over Dean’s shoulder, as if the answers are written in the yellow daisies décor. Nothing makes sense since Daphne died and he’s not even sure he knows how to feel anything other than the numbing black hole of loss.

His complete indifference doesn’t seem to make Dean hesitate, probably here at the behest of his record label, to be shown making an attempt at amends in the hopes of a more lenient sentence. “If I could turn back time then I would do _everything_ differently.” He runs a hand through his short, wet hair, causing it to spike up.

“That’s a redundant statement. Because you can’t.”

Dean visibly flinches, body language suddenly defensive, apparently expecting Castiel to co-operate and make it is easy for him. “I’m trying here Cas.”

Nothing about this situation is easy, so fuck Dean Winchester and the horse he rode in on. “My name is Castiel.”

“I’m trying here, Castiel.”

“I’m trying too, Mr. Winchester. Trying to get over the death of my wife because a no-good drug addict ran her over on his way to buy more drugs to supplement his habit that he can more than afford to quit, what with his millions of dollars and all. Rehab can’t be that expensive surely?” The words are spat out, scathing and he’s suddenly struck with the urge to punch the man in front of him; make him feel just an ounce of pain that he feels.

There’s a small tense pause, then a brisk nod. “I deserved that.”

Castiel fights the urge to say ‘damn right you do!’ because he doesn’t want any more of a scene. The pastor and several of Daphne’s friends – including the gossip Sophie Parker – are already staring at the pair of them and Castiel can feel his patience wearing thin.

Instead, he pulls a shaky breath into his lungs, finds the courage to speak calmly and evenly again. “You being here doesn’t change a thing, Mr. Winchester. Whatever your sentence is, it’s never going to be long enough for what I’ve lost.”

Dean closes his eyes and bows his head, the very picture of repentance and contrition. “I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

There’s a pregnant pause and Castiel goes to move away again, satisfied that he’s made his feelings in regard to Dean Winchester perfectly clear.

“Is there any way that you’d ever be able to forgive me?”

The answer is the easiest thing to come to him since the death of his wife.

“No.”

Dean suddenly looks frantic, and young, very young. He remembers Gabriel saying that Dean is only in his mid-twenties. Two lives wasted because of a moment of stupidity. “Please? I’m not asking you to do it right now, I just need you to tell me that there’s a chance. Give me something to work towards when I’m inside –”

Castiel cuts through the rambling words with cold precision. “I can’t do that Dean.”

Dean worries his bottom lip with his teeth for a second before responding, “Can’t or won’t?”

Castiel is suddenly too tired – aching deep into his bones – to care. Nothing will change. Nothing will bring Daphne back; not being angry with Dean, nor forgiving him, it’s all meaningless.

His next words are spoken aloud for himself as much as Dean.

“You pick, the outcome is still the same.”


End file.
